


Кукла

by Luce_cm



Series: In Your Heartbeat Universe [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Denial, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Sister-Sister Relationship, in conclusion: i am a monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luce_cm/pseuds/Luce_cm
Summary: Natasha struggles to hold on to the mantle and reputation of the Black Widow after the quinjet is taken out of the sky.





	1. But one that crumbles from within,

**Author's Note:**

> The title means "Dolls" in Russian, the word appealing to the more 'puppet' and 'toy' sense of the word rather than a term of endearment or 40's slang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case my endless swooning over her isn’t proof enough, I am head over heels in love with Natasha Romanov’s character. In any way I can write her, I will, because I find her deeply interesting and can only hope to do her justice. When I started this fic setting Nat to be someone’s big sister, I knew I was going to push that bond and the feelings it carries to see Nat react to it (the same thing could be said about Bucky, I wanted to work the idea of him having a name he could not forget and a bunch of things that are going to be considered on the chapter in his PoV); and point is I want to see Nat, as a sister, a friend, a protector, react to certain things. Amongst them losing, grieving.
> 
> I wanted to write Natasha grieving the most important person in her life, which is her sister, as, like I hope I have let people know, in the universe her soulmate is dead (maybe I will tell the tiny story about that and the repercussions of it on a future drabble or smth), and the bond between her and her sister is one of a kind. I like to believe Natalia would not so easily show her emotions, not even to the team, when it comes to something as strong as this. If you keep that in mind, it helps to go through the chapter.
> 
> I’m sorry for the long rant, and I only have one more tiny rant to end this and get you to the chapter: Please, let me know your thoughts. Even if they are not that good, I want to know how to improve, I want to hear back from you guys. Thank you so much for supporting me and giving this story a chance.

It has been two months now. Two months of waking in the middle of the night to the sound of her own screams, two months of a growing void within her chest, two months of grieving.

Two months gone, a lifetime to go. Natalia fears breaking before she can even reach the smallest of milestones. Guilt, rage, and, most of all, heavy agony tore through her, leaving a carcass of what once was a sister, a friend, a protector.

She watches as the team ignores your absence. Watching people, she was once known for that, in what feels like another lifetime. It’s all she can do to avoid losing her mind, to focus on something other than the voices that tell her of how she failed to one person she vowed to protect, of how the universe wouldn’t even grant her the reprieve of dying before you had to.

Tony tried issuing a report on your death at the hands of Hydra, but Steve quickly shut down the idea. The Captain, just like Tony, had taken on to grieve silently, behind a mask built on guilt and regret, while keeping the façade of believing you are alive.

Most of the team talked about you as if one day you would to walk through the doors of the compound, as if somehow a message would be sent, as if for some reason Karpov had switched his game and decided to keep alive the one person that could destroy what he built.

And the uncertainty was driving Natalia to the edge. She kept wondering if maybe their reasoning was right, that maybe she had given up to quickly, that maybe…maybe there was a chance. And she couldn’t, not anymore. She couldn’t keep going feeling like the only one mourning, the only once aware of your death, the only one that was willing to allow you your end, the only one giving your life the recognition it deserved.

She had awoken from one too many nightmares where your voice reached her through avoid of darkness, begging with the voice of the child she vowed to protect but the battered body of the girl that almost died in Odessa not to give up on her, and when Natalia would reach you, your eyes would widen with the fear of the twenty-year-old she strapped to a table and killed, your voice would turn to that frightened woman that would do it all for two people in this world, and your voice would demand why she didn’t believe them, when she left you to die when there was still time.

But that was the thing, at the end. The time was up. No trace at all was popping up on Stark’s and Barnes’ searches, no land exploration from Steve or Sam had been fructuous. They were chasing dead ends from day one, working on hunches and possibilities and Natalia couldn’t live like that, like them.

They wanted to make her believe in all this mad chase for a ghost, you were somewhere waiting for them, for her.

And all because of a fucking heartbeat. Because Barnes was so hellbent on the idea that you were still alive, that there was still time, that they would find you. Because his heart told him so, because he didn’t feel you die, because of reasons Natalia doesn’t want to delve into.

She has felt that horrible feeling to which she has no words, remembers the way the body seizes in pain, starting from the center of the chest and filling ever vein in their body with an agony so intense many have died from the shock of it. But funny thing is, the physical pain is not usually what people remember of the time they lose their soulmate, because there’s this feeling of profound loss, this wrenching _absence_ carved into their hearts and left there like a bleeding and burning wound that has no end; there’s a part of them, animal, instinctual maybe, that tells them their soulmate is dead and that pain, that kind of pain drives people to madness, makes them push past any mortal or physical binding, makes them forget they are human.

Or maybe they cease to be human, once their other half is gone. She doesn’t want to think too much about it.

And Natalia understands, or she likes to believe she does, why Barnes would cling to his heartbeat, to your bond, to tell himself that you are alive. She does understand, but he fails to understand the bond between you is severed, or at least somewhat broken, because you died once before, because your heart spells no name.

There is no way to prove Barnes could have felt the loss again when you were killed by Karpov. Maybe that’s one small mercy the universe has granted him, maybe it’s the one thing that finally drives him insane.

So now here she is, in the small storage room Barnes turned into a small office, watching silently as the man scans for a message you promised but never gave.

As he pretends you didn’t call one last time before the quinjet crashed, you didn’t say your goodbyes and promised Karpov wouldn’t take you alive.

As he pretends he didn’t hear the same words she did. As he tries telling her that she needs to believe him, that you are alive somewhere, somehow.

“I’m not trying to sound predictable, but she wouldn’t want this.” The Russian states firmly, posture set tightly as she awaits his response.

Bucky turns to her, a dead stillness in his eyes, making her wonder if denial is truly driving him insane before he blinks a couple of times and stands up from the Stark-patented device he set up on the floor of the office, since the desk is already crowded with always-searching computers.

“We had this conversation before, Natalia.”

“We had this conversation forty-three days ago, I thought you would…”

“Believe she’s dead?”

“Listen, Barnes. I get it, I do, but…”

“She’s still alive, I know.” He growls, running a hand through unkempt hair and turning his back to Natalia.

“You know nothing. I was an attempted soldier, I know what goes on in those places.” She spits back without even thinking it, too used to that same argument with herself, going back and forth between the girl that just wants her little sister back in her arms and the woman afraid to see what _they_ would make out of you.

Bucky turns around in a flash, eyes facing Natalia’s green ones with something a stare she sadly knows too well. A mix between devastation, fury, and…nothingness. The devastation at the failure, the knowledge that the thing he loves the most is lost to the monsters that still haunt his dreams, the fury at having Natalia arguing that you are dead, trying to stomp on the last dying and flickering speck of hope within him that you are not gone, that somewhere, in some way there is a chance for you to live the life you deserved. And the nothingness, the emptiness…that is something Natasha knows too well, the absence of a part of their soul because no matter what they pretend, a part of him -just like a part of her- died screaming in one of those godforsaken places.

And she knows better than anyone that some people manage to fill the void left behind after so many years of being treated like an experiment, like a machine, that they end up feeling like an animal, like a monster; those people that give and give and give, and manage to help them grow something within that void; those people that allow the body of those whose skin is marred by scorching hot iron to finally stop trembling, those people that managed to make them _human_ again.

She also knows what it is like to lose those people. She has already, too many times.

“I know better than anyone what Hydra is capable of, Natalia.” He bits out, jaw clenched tight and his metal hand clenching and unclenching in an almost manic motion.

“But you didn’t live it the way I did,” She replies slowly, carefully, as if approaching the wounded animal that will hit back without a second thought that was left after you were gone, “You were necessary, Barnes. I wasn’t, not really. And neither is my sister.”

His eyes screw shut at the implication of her words, and Bucky starts shaking his head before the words are even done leaving her lips.

“And you still got out. S-So will…so will she.”

The redhead feels something within her break at the realization that he cannot say your name. It’s been months, and she hasn’t heard it come from his lips not once since they left Siberia.

She knows what it is like, to try and forget a name that shouldn’t mean so much, a name that only thinking about makes her remember that everything that happened was real, and it would leave her with a face and a smile and an indescribable emotion to put alongside what happened and…and she couldn’t allow herself that one weakness, not if she wanted to remain standing, not if she wanted to keep all the pieces that made her together.

And as she watches his shoulders rise and fall in calculated, measured breaths, she hates herself for insisting, for pushing him to forget you again.

But she has to make him, he has to let you go because…because Natalia cannot face the horrible, gaping wound of the possibilities. She only works with certainties.

“’To take over the mind without the body giving up in the process.’” She quotes, voice scratchy as it is forced out of her throat.

The words make a slight tremble run past his broad shoulders, but Bucky remains quiet.

Natalia distractedly remembers those words being whispered among the girls in Belarus, the mice going up against the cat. Only then those words meant hope, meant victory, because they were sure Hydra would not conquer over it all.

Now, now it only means desolation.

“I know my sister, and I know you do too,” She whispers, voice breaking and tears clouding her vision, but she pushes on, not even caring to hide her scars, her brokenness, because she stands in front of someone as broken as her. “We both know she…she wouldn’t give in. Couldn’t.

The redhead forces herself to take a deep breath, breathing past the sob clawing its way out of her chest.

“And we both know how Karpov deals with rebellion.”

She leaves the room, doesn’t care to turn and see if he still watches the damn monitors in search of a message that will never come. She doesn’t think she is strong enough to do so.

But something changes after that day, after that confrontation between two broken people at two different edges of the process of losing you. Steve’s and Sam’s missions to the European North in search of physical remnants of Karpov’s passing stop gradually. Conversations over the table about how the situation with your kidnapping might be dealt with are done for.

Still, guilt tears at her insides with vicious claws as she notices Barnes doesn’t give up on the search.

___

So, the Widow takes on watching people. She tries not to linger in what you would say, in what your intake would be, tries breathing past the pain when she turns to let you know of something she observed, or waits to hear the soft sound of your laugh when she sees something funny, only to realize you are not there, never will be again.

And now she leans in silence on the wall opposed to the door on the main room, dragged there by Steve’s kind and worried eyes that manage to have her join quietly the team at the dinner table each night, although there’s nothing she would like to do more than bury herself in her own head, in her own world. But the supersoldier is insistent, if anything, and Natalia likes this odd sense of normality, allows her to work through a routine without pondering on what they lost to get here.

Tonight, though, tonight Natalia is on edge. Too many nightmares to count, too many voices in her head, too many memories to work through and the damn box of letters you wrote on that year you were away drilling thoughts she doesn’t want to linger on into the redhead’s mind.

Still, the Russian takes on to watch the Sokovian girl as the team reunites on the main living room. Wanda seems more lost than hurt, her eyes going to the door every time it opens, as if expecting you to walk through it again, even after two months, even after so many nights where she lends her powers to calm minds not her own.

Even after all the pain, the girl still expects you to come back. And for some reason, that makes Natalia explode.

“She’s dead, Wanda. Stop looking at that fucking door.” The redhead barks, startling the team. On the back of her mind, she notices Sam and Steve share a glance, as if they had been waiting for this to happen.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Yes, you did. Just because you people won’t accept that she is dead doesn’t mean she’s going to come back.” The redhead spits back, arms crossed over her chest and mask firmly in place to hide the pain that her own words cause her.

Maybe this is not what Wanda needed to hear, and more like she herself needed to hear someone say. And if she had to be the one to pull the trigger, Natalia would take it, would break the arrow and finally pull it out.

If she bled out or made it out alive, she fears she doesn’t care anymore.

Steve sighs, a step towards her, but a simple glare stops him. Still, he tries reaching out to her,

“Nat…”

“No! My sister is _dead_ , dead and cold. Don’t try to convince me otherwise, Rogers.”

“I trust Bucky on this one, Tasha. He says sh-…”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” The Russian snaps back, venom dripping from her lips so easily she is not even sure she is forcing the anger towards Bucky or if some part of her still hates the man for the gall to curse you with his name. She continues, teeth bared as she stands toe to toe with Steve, “We are all tiptoeing around the fact that my sister was _killed_ , probably tortured beforehand, because fucking _James Barnes_ decides she is alive.

She turns around, giving her back to the team and hides a bitter smile at the way Wanda’s powers wrap around the main door to the room, closing it. Either to keep her in, or to keep Bucky out, she does not know.

But she pushes on, even though she feels the shameful rise of tears in her eyes, the pitiful way her throat closes up before speaking.

“And I am not going along with his delusion. You are all too scared to admit it, but you are going to have to at some point. She is _dead_. Karpov probably bled her for all she is worth before killing her and burning the remains.”

“Natasha!”

She quietened the Captain’s refute with a single stare, green eyes shining in their fury and pain. Decades, seemingly centuries old agony and hurt were bare on her skin, not as a symbol of weakness, but an animalistic threat, a demonstration of what tried to end her and failed, to show what she succeeded in taking down.

With a growl, Nat moved forward, “You don’t know what Hydra is capable of. Barnes is all-too-willing to forget, when it comes to her, what those bastards are willing to do to get the upper hand. He may choose to forget what they did to him, but I was never given a chance to, and I know Hydra would not hesitate to take out the Winter Soldier’s last bit of humanity away from him at last, take down the one weak link the Black Widow has held on to for decades.”

In the distant part of her brain that still thinks tactically, that isn’t swarmed by images of the little girl with too much courage and too heavy of a burden to carry, by the sound of your laugh; that part of her notices Steve and someone else leaves the room.

“Natasha, breathe.”

At Wanda’s words, the Russian breaks the uneven pattern of her breathing, but cannot feel the oxygen filling her lungs. She tries pretending not to notice, she tries telling herself she is breathing, she tries remembering the mind can play tricks.

She tries, and all that comes out is jagged gasps and stuttered words when she speaks again, as if the words cannot be contained anymore, as if she would crumble if no one else _knows_.

“They wanted her dead and gone for so long…they must be so _relieved_ the Romanovas are finally done with,” A bitter, almost broken laugh leaves the Widow’s lips, “Funny, you know? The one thing Hydra knew me for was protecting my sister, they always knew if they so much as touched her, I would burn them to the ground, I would see the world die to protect her…and I failed _so hard_ at that in the end.

She feels the Sokovian approaching, sympathetic understanding in the way the girl runs ringed fingers through red locks of hair, a kindness mixed with hardness in the soft whisper of her name that Natalia understands better than anyone. Tears shine in Natalia’s green eyes when she whispers, almost disbelievingly,

“All it took was one day, and…Because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there and they took her.”

“Surata…”

“Wanda, my baby sister is _gone._ ” The assassin turned her gaze to the young girl, eyes searching desperately in the girl’s own broken brown gaze, but not finding what she was looking for.

_Tell me it’s not true. Tell me Bucky is right._

_Tell me my sister is coming back._

Thin arms are wrapped around her, words in a language she doesn’t know enough to understand reach her ears as the Widow breaks down, as her breaths shorten and her eyes sting, as her heart breaks but her soul somewhat finds rest.

It is hours later, with the gentle push of Wanda’s powers in her head that Natalia is able to close her eyes and breathe deeply.

“Do you…do you really believe Y/N is alive, Wanda?” Her eyes remain closed, for she cannot see the truth of the Sokovian’s words, whatever her response is, shining behind her brown eyes.

“Do you?”

___

The door bounces back with the force of the push that opens it.

“What do you need done?” Natalia barks as she throws a wrapped sandwich at the soldier sitting on the floor.

Bucky catches it with ease, looking up with tired eyes at the Widow, her new-found strength throwing him off, but it only takes a moment before the man runs a hand over his face on a futile attempt to shake off the exhaustion and motions for one of the computers.

“There’s some encrypted Hydra comms that I haven’t patched into yet.”

“Consider it done,” She mumbles, taking a bite of her own food as she walks to the computer. “And get some sleep, goddammit. I will wake you when I find anything.”

___

Natalia messily serves two shots of Vodka, motioning to the soldier to grab the one that is still resting in the table.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s been two months today,” She swallows around a weak knot in her throat. “I know you are aware.

Bucky doesn’t answer, haunted grey eyes going from the glass to the Widow and setting finally on her, a cautious sort of apprehension in his gaze.

So, the redhead raises her glass, and with a deep breath, states,

“To Y/N. The most tenacious woman I have ever met, and somehow the softest too.”

The soldier doesn’t quite smile at her words, but a soft sigh leaves cracked lips, a softening in ragged and worn features that is enough to make the Soviet feel she is doing your memory at least a tenth of the honor it deserves.

“To Y/N.” Bucky rasps out, dawning the drink before any more words can be exchanged. As soon as both glasses hit the table, Natalia pours another drink.

“So, lets get drunk, Soldier.” She fakes a smirk, raising the bottle.

“Why are you doing this, Natalia?”

 _I don’t want to be alone with my grief. I need to feel like I’m not insane. I need to remember she is_ real _._

“Misery requires company,” She simply quotes back, offering him his shot with a brave front even as her hand trembles, “I promise not to judge if you get drunk and start babbling about my little sister.”

“I can’t get drunk.”

“I know.”

There’s a moment of silence, of understanding, that goes by between them. A small moment, a window in time where she allows him to see her scars, because she is well aware of his own. A moment that is gone in the blink of an eye, where they stand as two soldiers that have lost so much, maybe too much to go on.

A moment where, in the same beat she promises to allow him the weakness of remembering, she begs him for a chance at new memories of you, in case no new ones are to come.

Bucky regards her for a few seconds, but finally takes the glass.

“I still can’t believe she managed to drag me into sightseeing while running from Hydra.”

The Soldier throws back his head and lets the liquid slide down his throat, prompting the redhead to do the same, but not before she answers, a nostalgic smile on her lips,

“I know. She sent me pictures of the museum date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Please tell her, that when the sun goes down I think of her. Please tell her, that I will never forget the sound of her voice calling my name. And please, let her know that she lives in my heart and that everywhere I go, I always see her face.”
> 
> Okay, for the last part of this, I really wanted to put a scene like this one out, maybe not on a situation like this because contrary to popular belief I do not enjoy torturing them. But point is, I wanted to write some Bucky and Nat interaction, because whether you ship them or not (which I do in comicverse, not so much in mcu, don’t @ me), there’s still plenty of things they have in common, and I believe a bond would form between them, romantic or otherwise. So yeah, I hope I did them justice.


	2. Chapter 2

“You got visual on them, Buck?” Steve’s voice asks through the comm, and the redhead waits for the former Winter Soldier’s confirmation that he has their back before moving forwards.

“Two incoming, Widow. Northeast,” Bucky grunts in her ear as she rounds past a corner, trying tor each the main control center of the facility before Hydra is ticked off their location. “Want me to take ‘em?”

“Save the bullets, I’ve got it.” Natalia answers, reaching up and sending her Widow Bite at the distracted men that were approaching.

“I’m about to breach their security, can you finish dancing around and plug the damn device?” Elena’s jittery voice asks. The girl had contacted Natalia a mere few hours after the quinjet was taken down, guilt and pain evident in her voice and though she was not trained at all in combat, Elena had decided to help the team find Hydra and its traces of you around the world.

A few days ago, the conjoined efforts of Natalia and Bucky had found a pattern in a smuggling ring that was too stiff, too professional to be mere pirates. Turns out, a mining facility in south Italy was acting as a smoke screen for a small resurgence in Hydra operations in Europe.

Elena had apparently been monitoring their discoveries, because the girl contacted them soon after, offering them intelligence and backup for the day they sent in a team to take over the facility, granting them the possibility of decoded intel on what was going on and the last messages exchanged, in search of any news of you.

“Chill, Elena. This is easy, especially when you are keeping your ass safe and warm in the jet.”

“You are mean, Romanova.”

“Like your experiences with the rest of my family were much better.” The redhead retorts, easy smile on her lips as she struts through the facility, keeping an eye out for any more agents.

“Your sister pays me when she wants my help.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“Can we leave this conversation for another time?” Steve grunts through the comms, the sounds of fighting permeating his end of the line.

Natalia smiles to herself as she snuck to the main area, losing the cover of Bucky’s sniping but getting closer to their goal and, resting assured that Steve was not far behind her, she takes her time exploring the darkened hallways of the nearly-empty area of the facility.

Her footsteps echo in the room, even despite the years of training and harsh ballet moves repeated over and over until her strength was unwavering but her use of it silent. Still, well aware of her own footsteps, the redhead can easily identify when another, stranger sound sneaks up on her.

Unsheathing her electric batons, Natalia struts towards the root of the soft and dull sound of something metallic hitting the concrete.

“Why don’t you come out?” She purrs, mantle of the Widow taking over.

“Nat?” Steve prompts, a hint of worry on his voice the redhead does not delve into. Instead, she focuses on the chaotic room as she enters, her breath leaving her lungs in a gasp.

“I’m in the hallway to the room with the intel. Come meet me here,” A beat of silence, and she adds, “Barnes…”

“Y/N?” The soldier is quick to ask, but the Russian shakes her head, even though he cannot see her. But words cannot leave her lips, her eyes trapped in place, as if forced by an invisible string to keep taking in the dozens of files spread through, filled with annotations, pictures, test details. There’s so many of them scattered hastily, she cannot help but wonder how many were there on the sole survivor of Project Cataclysm before the Hydra officer or doctor had to make a quick getaway.

Elena’s voice reaches her ears, soft voice answering Bucky, “Not…in the way you think.”

“I-Is she…?”

“She’s alive, probably.” The girl responds quickly but apparently her words die quickly too.

The characteristic sound of Steve’s footsteps announces his entrance into the room, his tall figure standing behind Natalia as he takes in the files spread before them.

“Are you taking in the data, Elena?” The Captain asks, before walking over to one of the files, the picture of your face relaxed in what Natalia begs to be sleep underlined with a short paragraph.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Anything else?”

“There was more data in this facility. It was moved, Hydra was aware you were coming.” The girl explains professionally, although Natalia can hear the tremble in her voice.

“How?”

“The comms, they were recently tampered with.”

“So they baited us in?”

“Not them,” Bucky interrupts, voice quiet and waking Natalia from her trance at the implication behind his words. “Too perfect a signal, it would be a tell to only a few people.”

The concern in Steve’s voice, the cautious approach to his friend is not lost in the spy, but her attention is focused on the recent picture of your sleeping face in one of the documents, even as the blond asks, “You think it was her?”

“It is. She worked like this for years, especially after Odessa, when we parted ways and we were damn sure Hydra wanted her head. Her way of letting me know she was alive was leaving a perfect absence behind,” Natalia conforms, trying to talk past the foolish hope crawling up her throat, dragging her heart in the process. A moment of hesitation, and, “Elena? Does it say anywhere what they are doing to my sister?”

“She’s alive, Natasha.” The girl soothes, but the edge in her voice is not lost, the callous diversion could not be overlooked. The redhead closes her eyes in a mix of pain and the rush of the possibilities before her, before calling the small team to retreat.

____

Natalia is nursing her third cup of coffee as her tired eyes look over the document, the information the tactical part of her brain is trying to find blurred by the sluggish way her exhausted body moves, by the fog around her tired mind.

“If Hydra knew there was a leak to you guys, they have to know it was her,” Wanda states suddenly, startling the Widow to attention. “Y/N is probably on thin ice now.”

“Thank you, Wan, that is truly something I want to think about.” Is the bitter response from Natalia as she rubs a hand over her face, trying to wake up.

“She’s right, though. Whatever ways of communication…they are gone for now,” Steve tries, comforting hand squeezing Natalia’s knee and baby-blue eyes searching to find the gaze of his best friend as he haunches over a document on Project Cataclysm. “Why don’t ya go to bed, Buck?”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s been 36 hours.” The Captain responds, a commanding tone in his voice that Natalia knows is going to only get Barnes to retaliate. Bite any hand that demands control, now that the leash is broken.

“I’m _fine_ , Steve.” The man snaps, standing up and grabbing roughly his empty cup. Before walking to the kitchen, he stops by the redhead, motioning at her own empty cup, but Natalia shakes her head.

Three pairs if watchful eyes witness his exit towards the kitchen, the green eyes of the Widow taking inventory of the way he seems to hold himself differently, the way he has lost so much weight is almost unrecognizable, the way every breath that moves his shoulders up and down seems rigidly controlled.

A soft sigh from Steve brings her attention back to the present, and she turns to find him pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. With a sympathetic smile, she places what she hopes is a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“He’s doing…as expected, Steve.”

“I…He’s not, Nat. Time’s running out, what are we going to do if-…”

“We will find my sister, Rogers. Even if all I have to bring home is a casket, I will bring her home.” The Russian hisses, interrupting the man swiftly and feeling her muscles tighten and gaze narrow at him.

“That’s not what I mean. She is alive, we’ll have her back, but…Tasha, I don’t know for how long he’s going to hold on.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve regards her for a few seconds as if battling with himself whether or not he should voice these thoughts. After a moment, the blond shakes his head, dismissing the conversation silently.

“Doesn’t matter,” Turning to the Sokovian, he starts, “Anything you could gather form the Hydra officers?”

But the girl remains silent, eerily so, with brown eyes watching carefully over the place where Bucky disappeared. Natalia turns to look, but the space is empty, the entrance to the kitchen clear of people.

Suddenly, the girl’s eyes are shining red, her arms crawling with red mist, before her as a gasp leaves her lips. The heavy, disgustingly bitter feeling of dread settles in the redhead’s stomach, but still she tries reaching the girl.

“Wanda!?”

A soft crash, as if someone tumbled and fell gracelessly, echoes through the place, coming from the kitchen. Natalia rushes behind Steve to regard the situation, but her steps falter when she watches the scene unfold before her.

Bucky lays on the ground, body hunched over where he lays on his knees. His broad shoulders move rapidly up and down, a flesh hand pressed tightly to the center of his chest, as if willing his heart to keep on beating.

The choked, almost contained whimper that leaves the man’s throat is all that it takes to end Natalia’s world.

“Get up, Barnes.” Her voice doesn’t waver, her words don’t stutter. But she breaks nonetheless. A dead look in the green eyes of the woman with the hair the color of fire, hands that always aimed true shaking uncontrollably as she presses one of them against her own heart, tears shinning as her gaze is lost in nothingness.

“Nat, get out.” Steve growls, approaching the fallen man but retreating quickly when he flinches violently, what seem like hushed words leaving his lips over and over, in an almost manic motion.

But Natalia cannot back down, cannot…she cannot let this happen.

Even if burning the world down will not get time to stop, she has to try.

Because this feeling creeping up her throat, the weight in her heart, the pain spreading through her like a thousand needles…she cannot let time go on with a pain like this.

With the absence of you.

“Barnes, stand up!” She snarls, stalking closer to him. Her mind is a mess of screams and words and memories. But it all tones down to a single word. _No_. “Bucky, please! Tell me it’s not…p-please.”

“Wanda, get her out.” The Captain spits back, not even turning to her as his baby blue eyes focus on the trembling frame of the man before him.

There’s soft hands, slender fingers, wrapping around her biceps, gently trying to coax her away from the image out of her own nightmares, the proof of failure, the irredeemable reality of a world where you do not exist.

_The pressure in her stomach bleeds with warmth, and for a second too long Natalia stands still, wrapped in the impossibility of the Ghost standing ready to kill the one his own heart yearns for without any hesitation._

_Looking down to the blood pooling on the dark tactical gear covering her torso, the spy gasps at the realization the bullet went straight through._

_There’s a fine line of blood falling down your open lips, the sticky and warm poison spreading out of your chest and into the undeserving world that has already took too much. There’s voices screaming in Natalia’s head, there’s blood everywhere, there’s a bullet in her little sister’s heart._

_“Solnyshka…” She mutters, bloodied hands fluttering over your still frame, green eyes frantically searching your own pained and dazed ones as she begs for a chance at…at what?_

_“Messed with the wrong people, d-didn’t I?” You rasp out, a small smile on your lips that does nothing to ease the iron clutch agony has on the redhead’s heart. Leave to you to try and comfort her with your dying breath._

_And to think she felt guilt when she took you from him._

_And to think she dared believe him human. Human enough to deserve you, human enough to love you._

_There’s someone at her back, someone shouting confused plea of help in Ukranian, someone that sounds kind, unlike her, unlike_ him _._

_But Natalia cannot take her eyes off the blood in her hands, the light dimming from your eyes, the bloodied smile still on your lips._

_It is hours later, when Shield has stabilized you and assured your survival, that the nonsensical, nameless, and broken beat of your heart becomes Natalia’s own lullaby, as the Russian swears revenge on the one thing that almost managed to take her sister away from her, the one thing that has cursed her sister from the start._

The spy gives in to the gentle tug of the arms around her, ignoring the tremble in them, ignoring the ruining pain running though her like thick poison. She stares at her hands, stretched before her.

Calloused, rough hands of a warrior. There’s faint scars over her knuckles, there’s the unyielding stain of blood a thousand shades of red running down her skin, tainting the pale skin. There’s also a faint ring Laura gifted her a long time ago, traces of the nail polish she painted over a chat with you and Wanda what seems like an eternity ago still clinging to her, trying to bring forth beauty in the hands that have caused so much death.

A part of her that is still letting her dazedly be walked out of the kitchen wonders why isn’t your blood staining them now.

But that part of her, that easy reprieve is quickly lost when she finally understands what Bucky has been repeating over and over, hand pressing against his chest and body trembling as if in the aftershocks of the most unbearable torture.

_“Y/N…Y/N…don’t forget that. Count the beats, d-don’t forget that. Y/N.”_

Like a broken doll whose strings are cut off, Natalia falls to the ground on her knees, breath caught in her lungs, trapped there as if to hold time still, almost like she believed if she stayed still for long enough, time would stop for once, the universe be kind for a change, and allow them reprieve.

And pain fills her, poisoning her from the inside out, leaving her bones to break, her strength to crumble, and her heart to weaken.

But if there’s something stronger in this world than pain, it’s hope. Hope is a force of nature, an undeniable and incorrigible event. Capable of surviving desolation, the wrath of the powerful and the oppression of the strong. Hope is like that rebellious weed, capable to grow in the desert or in ice itself, carving a path through the existent cracks in the armors of each of us.

It is a force of nature, for hope can heal, can give life to a new vision, yes, but it can also become as destructive as the pain it holds back, it can get out of control and cause a special kind of suffering.

Hope is something she has learned to fear, even more so than pain itself, than loss, than defeat. Pain leads to resignation, loss keeps you on your knees, defeat hardens your heart; but hope whispers in your ear stories about people capable of flying while the hard ground breaks the skin on your knees, and that…that is what breaks people, that knowledge of not having been enough and having lost that future that shone like an open flame, and the cold absence when it goes out, when once you were able to feel the warmth of its closeness on the tips of your fingers.

She thinks maybe what broke her, what broke them all, was the hope they held on to for months that somehow there was a happy ending at the end of it all. That somehow, there would be a reunion, that somehow, laughter could be heard again. That somehow, maybe, happiness was just around the corner for them all.

There’s a commotion she feels taking place, a disturbance so alike the ripples of water when you are drowning she cannot care to turn her attention to.

A soft whisper of her name, and the redhead is slammed into the reality of it all once more, forced to embrace the pain coursing through her, burning, breaking, ruining.

Her eyes swell up, tears course down her cheeks and her throat breaks with the animal scream torn out of her chest, a debate between the plea for death of a grieving sister and the burning rage of a survivor.

____

Natalia doesn’t dare leave her room for a week, the constant company of Clint’s for once silent support and Wanda’s sympathetic and understanding words and smiles are somehow what makes the weight not so unbearable.

Her throat is sore from screaming, her eyes are dry, and her body hasn’t stopped trembling for so long she doesn’t remember a time when her muscles weren’t cramped from being tightened all the time. But there’s a part of her that feels purged, after all of it.

There’s a part of her that she likes to think was your last gift to her, a part of her that for so long was so inherently yours that Natalia can only carry it with the broken pride of a woman that has lost it all. There’s a calm resistance to her strength, an unyielding resilience set in her bones.

There’s a ghost of you, guiding her steps, calming her breaths, as she leaves the room for the first time.

Murmured words are her greeting as she walks into the common room, Clint’s arm around her, supporting her weight more than she would like to admit. Natalia nods in thanks and turns her eyes to the blond supersoldier standing hesitantly to her left.

“How are you?”

“How do you expect, Rogers?” She replies swiftly, the light shine in her eyes and the soft smile teasing at her lips hidden by his shirt when he quickly wraps his arms around her in a warm embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Nat.” Steve whispers, a soft kiss pressed to her hair and strong arms tightening their hold on her for a second.

“I know,” A beat of silence, and then, “Where’s Bucky?”

Steve swallows harshly before answering, his voice tinged with sadness and the horrible feeling of helplessness he has confessed her to feel all to often.

“His room.”

The Russian takes a step back, ready to go talk to your soulmate, see if…if there’s anything she can do. Steve hesitates for a beat, before letting his long and slender artist fingers take a hold of her hand softly.

“Nat…”

“I’m a big girl, Steve.” She dismisses, voice soft although her words may be harsh, and walks to the familiar room.

_Natalia is nursing her second cup of coffee when the former Winter Soldier enters the kitchen, bags under his eyes and a tiredness to his frame unlike any other, but a brightness in his eyes, a newfound softness in his smile._

_She says nothing, taking a sip of her coffee and looking over the rim of her cup at Steve, who is now portraying the giddy excitement of a child in Christmas morning when his best friend asks him something about the Howling Commandos._

_Steve answers swiftly, grand hand gestures accompanying his story, and a smile matching Bucky’s as he retells their past to his friend._

_They fall silent after a while, and the soldier greets Natalia quietly when he feels her piercing green eyes on him. The redhead cannot contain her smile when she asks,_

_“Any chance you know where my sister is, Barnes?”_

_The Soldier smiles contritely to himself, “She’s still sleepin’.”_

_She tries hiding her light laugh at Steve’s confronted expression when she leaves the kitchen, steps light as she approaches Bucky’s room._

_Your sleeping form, haphazardly stretched over a small chair in your soulmate’s room brings a smile to the spy’s face and a surprising, but not unwelcome sense of peace and warmth spreads through her._

_Resisting the urge to wake you up now, Natalia slowly closes the door behind her, and walks back into the kitchen. There’s a forced nonchalance in Bucky’s demeanor when he turns around to face her._

_“She’s still there, soldier, don’t fret.” The redhead answers before he can ask anything, a sly smile on her lips. He returns the smile. Carefully, almost cautiously, but he does._

_Natalia wonders if fate is real that morning. Over cold coffee, exchanged stories between old soldiers and then the giddy feeling of having you back at her side after so long, with no lies between you and with a lightness in you that wasn’t there before; Natalia wonders if there’s something that pulls on the little strings attached to our pinkies, she wonders if there was a reason the universe brought you here to them now, if there was a reason things played out like they did, seventy or so years ago._

_She watches Bucky light up when you are by his side, a certain relief flowing over him when you walk into a room, as if finally assured once again that you are real; she watches him let go of the so tightly held control, if only to make you laugh; she watches him strive to make you as happy as you will allow him to, the promise a silent oath when you smile up at him._

_There’s a calmness to him, like the warm feeling of finally being home, of finally feeling safe when he takes your hand in his and toys with your fingers, or when he steps in behind you and there’s a subtle change in your posture so you can lean on him. There’s the bitter and addictive feeling of hope when she watches you two, and Natalia wonders if it should terrify her, although it doesn’t._

_Because maybe fate is real after all._

She now stands in front of a dead man. She has danced with death for years on end, and never once thought it would be as unkind as to leave a beating heart behind a dead soul.

Now she watches ruination right in the eye, and is forced to understand that if fate is real, it has forgotten, or cursed, them all.

His eyes are blank, clean of any emotion, just staring at the nothingness of his own mind. Natalia sees his lips moving, just a few words. He doesn’t even blink, doesn’t flinch in pain at the realization, doesn’t scream and break, he doesn’t show anger or frustration, he doesn’t react. And that is what scares her the most.

Just one sentence, and his entire world became numb.

“Y/N is gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. Idk what to tell you, it only gets worse in Bucky’s chapter, which will be coming soon. But, the sun will shine on us again.
> 
> Random thought: In my canon, Nat refuses to let any emotion show for fear of the worst happening, but when the worst does come to be, there’s a dam broken and she crumbles like a house of cards. That’s why there’s a more vulnerable, almost open Nat at the end of the chapter. She will probably go back to the mask of the Black Widow, but for now, what she feels is shown in everything she is. It is, like she says, a healthy purge of the loss, the anger, the pain.  
> Bucky, on the other hand…
> 
> Would love to know your thoughts!!! Thank you for reading!  
> Love, Luce


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